Chapter 4

Kristine's legs felt like they might give out beneath her. Assist him? In front of an entire lecture hall full of medical students? After what had just happened at the hospital? This had to be some kind of cosmic joke.

But Lucy's grade hung in the balance. Ten percent was too much to lose. And walking out now would only make things worse.

"Fine," she heard herself say.

George's expression did not change. "Come to the front."

The walk down the lecture hall aisle felt like a death march. Every eye tracked her movement. Whispers followed in her wake. She could feel their curiosity, their judgment, their amusement at whatever was about to happen. When she reached the front, George gestured to the examination table that had been set up beside the podium.

Of course there was an examination table. Because apparently the universe had decided today was the day to destroy whatever dignity Kristine had left.

"Lie down," George said, and "Face up."

Kristine climbed onto the table, the paper crinkling loudly in the silent room. She stared at the ceiling, trying to pretend she was anywhere else. Anywhere but here, flat on her back in front of strangers while her ex-boyfriend prepared to use her as a teaching tool.

George stepped forward. His hands were warm when they touched her belly, pressing gently through the fabric of her shirt. Like she was just a body, not a person he used to love.

"Any tiredness?" he asked.

"No."

His hands moved lower, probing a different area. The pressure was firmer now, more deliberate, and Kristine could feel exactly what he was doing. Palpating her abdomen. Checking for abnormalities. She had read enough medical articles to know the procedure, but knowing it and experiencing it in front of dozens of strangers were two entirely different things.

"Any pain here?"

The pressure hit exactly where the cramping had been worst and Kristine could not stop the sound that tore from her throat. "Ow!"

George's hands stilled but did not lift away. A student near the front raised his hand eagerly, leaning forward in his seat like this was the most exciting thing he had seen all semester.

"Professor George, what does that mean?"

George's fingers pressed again, more gently this time, and Kristine bit her lip to keep from making another sound. He was mapping her pain, she realized. Using her body to teach these students about diagnosis. Each press of his fingers corresponded to a different organ, a different potential problem. She wanted to hate him for it, but the clinical precision in his movements reminded her why he had become one of the top gynecologists in the world.

"It usually indicates mild inflammation," George said, his voice carrying across the lecture hall. "It requires ongoing treatment."

Laughter erupted from somewhere in the middle rows. A girl's voice, high and mocking. "So she has an STD?"

Another voice joined in, male this time, dripping with judgment. "She definitely has an STD. Her personal life must be a total mess."

The murmuring spread like wildfire. Students pulling out their phones, some already recording. Kristine could see the screens lighting up in her peripheral vision, capturing her humiliation for social media. The laughter grew louder. Comments flew back and forth, each one more cutting than the last. She caught snippets of their words. Slut. Dirty. No wonder she showed up late. Probably came straight from someone's bed.

Heat flooded Kristine's face, burning from her cheeks down to her neck. This was it. The final humiliation. He was getting back at her for disappearing five years ago, for blocking his number, for never giving him a chance to explain. This was his revenge, served cold in front of an audience who would spread this story across campus by nightfall. Tomorrow morning, everyone would know. Miranda Cooper, the girl with the STD who got exposed in Professor George's lecture.

Except she was not Miranda Cooper. She was Kristine Davis. And this was going to follow her friend too, ruin Lucy's reputation along with her own.

She started to sit up, ready to bolt from the room no matter what it cost Lucy's grade, but George's hand pressed firmly against her shoulder, holding her in place. The weight of it was gentle but unyielding. Then he turned to face the class, and the expression on his face made the entire room go silent.

The change was instant. His jaw was set, his eyes hard, and every inch of him radiated an authority that had nothing to do with his position as guest lecturer. This was fury, barely controlled, directed at every student in that room.

"QUIET!"

His voice cracked through the lecture hall like thunder. Students jumped in their seats. Phones lowered. The laughter died instantly, replaced by an uncomfortable silence that pressed down on everyone like a physical weight.

"Gynecological problems are not proof of sexual promiscuity." Each word came out sharp and precise, cutting through the stunned silence like a scalpel. "They can stem from low immunity. From improper medication. From a dozen different factors that have nothing to do with someone's personal choices." He paused, his eyes scanning the room with an intensity that made students shrink in their seats. Several people had gone pale. "Regardless, we should never equate women's health to shame. Is that understood?"

Silence. Complete and total.

"I said, is that understood?"

A few scattered voices mumbled agreement, weak and ashamed.

"Louder."

"Yes, Professor George," the class chorused, the words coming out uneven and uncomfortable.

"Good. Now delete any photos or videos you just took. If I see this incident posted anywhere online, I will personally see to it that you're brought before the ethics board. This young woman volunteered to help with a medical demonstration, and you repaid her with cruelty and judgment." His voice dropped lower, somehow more dangerous for its quietness. "That kind of behavior has no place in medicine. Class is dismissed."

The room exploded into movement. Students grabbed bags and laptops, scrambling for the exits like they could not get out fast enough. Some looked chastened, their faces flushed with embarrassment at being called out. Others whispered excitedly, probably already texting their friends about what had just happened, ethics board be damned. Within minutes, the lecture hall had emptied except for a few stragglers near the back who were taking their time packing up.

Kristine sat up slowly, her hands shaking as she tried to smooth down her hair. It had gotten messed up from lying on the table, strands sticking up at odd angles. She ran her fingers through it frantically, trying to look like she had not just been publicly humiliated and defended in the same breath. Her dress had ridden up slightly and she tugged it back down, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.

She needed to leave right now. Before she did something stupid like cry or scream or demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing.

Kristine stepped down from the table, grabbed her bag from where she had dropped it near the front row, and headed for the exit. Her legs were unsteady but she forced them to move. One foot in front of the other. Almost there. Just a few more steps and she would be out of this nightmare.

"You! Stay."

George's voice stopped her cold, her hand already reaching for the door handle.